“It feels… I’m going to come,” she manages, her breath catching. Gripping a handful of hair, I haul her up so her back is to my front. She closes her hands over my thighs, murmuring words I can’t make out as I kiss her, continuing to push into her.

“Do you feel what happens to me when I’m inside you? What you fucking do to me? The thought of that man touching you, of any man touching you, makes me fucking crazy.”

Her gaze flicks to mine, and she licks her lips.

“But you like hearing that, don’t you, little monster?” I close my teeth over the pulse at her neck, then push her back down onto her hands and knees and watch myself fuck her, taking this other piece of her.

She whimpers, then closes her eyes and begins to meet my thrusts. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Sweat from my forehead drips onto her back, and I want to fuck her like this all night. Because it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. I’ll never get enough of her. And when she fists the sheets and shudders around me, the tremors are too much, and I come too, pinning her with my weight and holding her tight as I empty inside her.

When it’s over and we’ve stilled, both of us panting, I push the hair from her face and kiss her temple, which is damp with sweat. I listen to her breathe, lifting some of my weight off her.

She mutters my name, the sound sad. A little broken.

I pull out slowly, and she trembles when I lift off altogether. I put the blanket over her and go into the bathroom to wash up and return with a warm washcloth. I sit on the bed beside her and clean her. She’s quiet and still.

“I lose control with you, Mercedes. Every time. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t fucking give you up. I just don’t know how to keep you.”

She turns to look up at me with wet eyes and sits up drawing her knees to her chest, gaze drifting away from me as her forehead creases. I try to brush her hair back from her face, but she pushes my hand away before shifting her gaze to me.

“You’re right,” she says, and something in the way she sounds makes my chest tighten. “I wouldn’t ever be happy with someone like Clifton Phillips. I know that. But I can’t do this anymore either. It’s too much, and I can’t.”

I open my mouth to answer but my phone rings. We both turn to look at it, and Mercedes’s breath catches when she sees it’s Santiago.

“Mercedes—” I start, but she shakes her head, grabs the phone, and answers it.

“Santi? Is the baby okay? Is Ivy?”